


Lift a Sail

by AutumnWoodsDreamer



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Families of Choice, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnWoodsDreamer/pseuds/AutumnWoodsDreamer
Summary: If he went to bed, he’d sleep, and then morning would come and they would reach Corvus, they’d find the Jedi who would of course love the child and welcome him home... and Din, his quest seen through to the end, would leave.That’s how it had to be; he knew as much from the start.The kid was not his. The Armorer called him a foundling, yes, but he couldn’t rightly be deemed one until it was certain his people couldn’t or wouldn’t care for him; Din was to treat him as his own until then, but nothing was set in stone.... . . . .The child chooses his path, and their tumultuous quest seems to reach its end.But there are still other forces at play, hunting them down.Their journey is far from over...
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 77
Kudos: 204





	1. I Can’t Choose When to Love or Who I Am Part Of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On route to Corvus, Din and the child go about their routine, trying to ignore the fact that this is their last day together...

With coordinates set and hyperspace blurring by, Din was finally free to tend to the matter of “onboard maintenance.”

“Alright,” he said as he turned the pilot’s seat around. “How’s about we get you cleaned up?”

The kid’s ears perked up and he tilted his head just enough that he could match his gaze with his guardian’s visor. “Eh?” he questioned but eagerly put his arms up in anticipation of being held.

Din lifted the boy and settled his small body in the crook of his arm. “I know it’s a little early for bathtime, but you can’t stay in this.” To make his point, he tapped the boy’s small chest. He had managed to dab away most of the brilliant blue puke with the tattered hem of his cloak, but it had still soaked through and soiled the robe (which was doubly annoying because he only just washed this one the night before...)

The kid blew a soft raspberry as some form of acknowledgement and returned his attention to the half-eaten cookie still in his hand.

“Hey! No.” Din plucked the cookie out of the kid’s claw, eliciting an indignant squawk. “You just threw that stuff up. You shouldn’t eat more.” He glanced back at the co-pilot seat, at the roll of cookies wrapped in foil—only a third of the contents remained. “Who gave you these anyway?”

An animated series of chirps and squeaks met the question; the kid even threw in a few gestures: small waves of his arms and controlled ticks of his ears.

Din frowned, recognizing a story being told but falling short of following until the kid thrust a tri-fingered hand out and scrunched his face like he was concentrating—mimicking the act of using his mind powers but not actually using them there and then. After another burst of sounds that weren’t quite words, the kid dropped his hand and the face, and swiveled in the arm holding him, looking up with an expectant gleam in his too big eyes.

“You... used your powers,” Din tried.

The kid didn’t exactly nod, but there was something satisfied in the way he turned back around.

Din looked between the nibbled on confectionery in one hand and the child in his other arm. “So, you took them?”

The kid looked up at him again, this time just tipping his head back a notch. He blinked but it wasn’t his “I don’t understand” blink, it was his “You’re on the right track” blink.

“Wait. Did you... did you steal these?”

That got him an “I don’t understand” blink.

“Steal. You know?” He gestured to nothing in particular. “As in, no one gave it to you or said you could have it, but you took it anyway?”

Another blink and the kid just turned his head to face the room again.

Din closed his eyes and let his breath out in a rush. Something hard settled in his stomach anyway; he didn’t want to call it disappointment but there wasn’t a nicer word for it.

“Kid, that’s not... you shouldn’t...” he aborted the half-cocked lecture with a shake of his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, trying to keep his tone measured and mentally scolding himself when his own ears registered it as just a shade too gruff.

. . . . .

  
Sometimes the child loved baths, sometimes he hated baths, and sometimes he was completely indifferent regarding the whole affair; despite many cycles worth of this ongoing battle, Din still wasn’t quite sure what dictated the kid’s preferences from one day to the next.

Today, though, he enjoyed splashing around in the small basin, and his compliance with the necessary routine helped ease his guardian’s agitated spirit.

He decided to drop the issue of the cookies’ procurement. Just a week ago, he would’ve waited for the calm spell that set in after bathing but before bed to bring it up and then he’d muster the courage to forge through a lesson he wasn’t totally confident the kid would follow. But tonight...

After washing, he let the kid play in the warm, soapy water for a little longer than he usually did.

He sat watch, folding his arms and propping his back up against the crate that doubled as his seat most days. The kid seemed to have plenty of energy to burn, so he relaxed and stretched his legs out, overtaxed muscles protesting but complying.

Helping Greef and Cara clear the dregs of the Empire from their turf wasn’t as laborious as, say, slaying a krayt dragon, trekking across miles of dunes, wrestling ice crawlers, and then storming an Imperial ship, but it was vying to be the straw that broke the bantha’s back.

There were dozens of ports much closer to Trask he could’ve docked at for repairs but he had chosen Nevarro because it was one of the scant few places in the galaxy that would actually welcome him. He had hoped it would offer just enough peace that the two of them could rest, refuel, replenish... and maybe just enjoy their last day together.

It hadn’t really worked out that way, but as sore and tired as he was now, he knew he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat: for Greef, for Cara, for a world that had once been—in a rather liberal application of the word—his home.

To the kid, it had been a fantastic day. He always relished a change in pace and scenery, but the company of other children was the true highlight—he hadn’t had that since Sorgan.

Din smiled to himself as he watched the boy playing in the basin, dunking and swirling a washcloth around in the water. The kid got to be just be a kid today; and if that was all they got out of it, then it counted as a very good day indeed.

The boy slung the washcloth over his back and pulled the edges up to drape over his little shoulders. When he had it secure, he spun around and chirped excitedly.

Din dipped his head so his helmet moved, letting the boy know he had his attention.

“Baba! Bah-wep, bah-wep!” he exclaimed, patting the cloth on his shoulder.

“Are you getting cold?” Din asked, reaching out and dipping the tips of his fingers in the water. It was still fairly warm, but the air in the cargo hold was cool and the kid’s body couldn’t retain any heat; it was probably time to come out now.

He grabbed a towel and held it open between his hands but the boy didn’t make any move to climb out. Instead, he let out a soft huff that was more annoyed than defiant and patted the damp cloth again.

“Yes, I see that,” Din assured.

The kid reached out his hand, pointing to something and launching an explanation with concerted squeaks and babbles.

Din followed the direction and looked down at his own shoulder—the helmet rendered it a blind spot, but he figured out what the kid was referring to.

Warmth bloomed in his chest for a fraction of a second before turning into a heavy ball of ice.

Carefully, he peeled the washcloth off tiny shoulders and set it back in the water. “You don’t need a cloak, you little womp rat,” he said, infusing his tone with humour and affection to make sure the kid didn’t read it as scolding. “Now.” He drew attention back to the towel with a nod of his helmet. “You coming?”

Without hesitation, the kid clambered out the basin and practically threw himself into the towel. He kept up a steady stream of coos and chitters as Din bundled him loosely and hugged him to his chest with one arm, using the other to push himself up off the floor.

The rather one-sided conversation continued as he carried him over to their shared bunk and went about drying him off. Without thinking, Din let out a laugh that wasn’t much more than a breath.

The kid halted at the unfamiliar sound, his brow and a single ear lifting in curiosity.

“You’ve got a lot to say tonight, buddy,” Din acknowledged, taking the ear and rubbing it softly between the towel and his fingers. “I guess you had fun at school, huh?”

When he finished one ear, the other flicked up; the kid’s gaze never left the helmet’s dark visor.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure your people will, uh...” He exhaled, clipping it at the last second to keep it out of another sigh. “I’m sure they’ll have schools or... something.”

The kid looked at him for a long moment; he wasn’t sure how much he could reasonably read into the narrowing of his eyes and the hard line his mouth pressed into, but whatever it was, it was deliberate.

Silence stretched between them, hanging just a little too heavy as Din set the towel aside and helped him dress in a clean robe.

Omera made this one. Actually, she made him a few: some bigger for when he grew (though he doubted those would ever see use), and some made of lighter fabrics which he learned fairly quickly weren’t any good because the kid needed thicker, insulated material or else he just kept shivering and trying to snuggle up in Din’s cloak (something Winta had found both adorable and funny).

The kid nuzzled his face into the collar of the fresh robe; relishing the feeling of clean fabric on a clean face.

Automatically, Din reached for the necklace he always stashed in the kid’s hammock during baths. He paused for a moment, turning the pendant over in his hand, tracing the familiar ridges of the mythosaur skull with his thumb.

His finder gave it to him, a week after he rescued him. He had slipped it out from under his dark blue chestplate and held it out, the unpainted beskar glowing with the reflection of the cooking fire nearby. He didn’t push it, just waited for Din to reach out and take it. In a deep but gentle voice, he explained what it meant, what it represented, it’s history and it’s purpose. It was just a thing, but to have it offered was to be welcomed, and to carry it was to accept the Mandalorians. He asked Din if he understood, if he would accept him as his protector, and waited for him to decide, to nod firmly, before he closed his large, gloved hands around his and said—

“Ah?” Big brown eyes searched for his through the visor as tiny green fingers touched his hand, tentative but curious.

Din let his breath out; it didn’t do much for the tightness in his chest. “Yes, this is yours,” he affirmed and slipped the cording over the boy’s head, settling it securely under the fold of his collar.

He accepted it and grasped the pendant with both claws, turning it around so the skull faced him. He tilted his head and looked back at his guardian. A two-tone chitter seemed to say “That wasn’t what I was asking” but he pressed no further.

After a minute, he dropped the pendent and moved to climb down the bunk. Din stepped aside but kept a hand hovering close just in case.

The boy toddled over to the crates that served as both their sitting and dining area; he patted the larger of the two and cast a very pointed look to the Mandalorian.

He knew their routine. Food first, then bath, and finally bed. Bringing the bath forward didn’t make him forget step one.

Din smiled to himself. “Good to know that little stunt earlier didn’t ruin your appetite.” He crossed the space in just two strides, lifted the boy up, and turned to the stacks of fresh supplies lining the cargo hold.

He hadn’t asked Greef to organize anything beyond the _Razor Crest’s_ repairs, so he was genuinely surprised when he returned to find multiple supply crates proudly loaded and lined up. He had tried to arrange payment over a call but the older man refused. “This is a gift, Mando,” he had said. “From Cara and me, to you and your boy.”

The generosity was heartwarming, and timely—Din hadn’t had a chance to properly restock anything since Tatooine and his little trick of stretching their rations by making soup that was more water than substance wasn’t going to last them much longer. (All things considered, he supposed he couldn’t really blame the kid for stealing those cookies...)

“How about you pick dinner tonight, huh, buddy?” he offered as he opened a box and hoisted the kid up a little further so he could peer in.

The kid leaned forward, bending right over the arm holding him. Pointed ears slid up as he surveyed the contents with rapt interest. Either he understood his mission or he was just excited by the prospect of a hearty meal; judging by the concentration furrowing the little one’s brow, Din told himself it could be both.

“Alright. What have we got—whoa.” He pulled out a meal pack much larger than what he usually obtained; it didn’t take much more than a glance to see it was better quality, too.

The kid made a noise—a high pitched chirp he used when he wanted his guardian to look at something.

Din glanced down and followed the direction the kid indicated with a jerky wave of his claw. There, stuck on the inside of the box’s lid, was a simple note, scrawled in dark blue.

_“Dinner’s on me, boys. Cara.”_

“Huh. Cara set this up for us,” he said for the kid’s benefit. He cooed at the familiar name. “Well, if she had a hand in this, then it’s gotta be good. Go on: take your pick.”

The child didn’t bother to examine his options, or at least, it didn’t look like he was giving it all that much thought. Without hesitation, a little green claw reached out and tapped one of the meal packs. He turned and glanced up, checking to see if Din saw.

“Okay.” He picked out the chosen pack and brought it over to the cramped cooking station in the corner; setting the kid down on the floor, he went about preparing the food.

The kid let out a short huff at being put down, but quickly settled his indignation by standing right up against his guardian’s boot, head tipped all the way back in an attempt to watch the process.

“Looks like a lot of meat and a lot of mushrooms,” Din commented and smiled at the happy trills the information earned. “Does Cara know you or does Cara know you?”

It didn’t take long to heat the food through—not with the stove actually working again... and cleared of seaweed and crawler carcasses. The kid was practically bouncing when he turfed the chunky stew out of the pot and into a bowl.

“You can’t carry it; go sit down,” he instructed, grabbing a spoon and using it to point to the makeshift dining area.

The kid didn’t fight. He crossed the space as fast as his little legs could manage and climbed up onto his allotted crate, his claws flexing excitedly in his lap.

“Now, I know you’re hungry, but your stomach will be sensitive from earlier, so you have to pace yourself,” Din admonished, crouching down to pass the boy his dinner. He held up a finger—he didn’t know if the gesture added any credence to his words, it just always came up of its own accord. “Eat slowly.”

“Batu!” the boy exclaimed and dug straight in.  
  


. . . . .

With a full belly, it wasn’t long before the kid’s eyes grew heavy. Din settled him in his hammock and he dropped off to sleep before he even had his blanket tucked in around him.

He didn’t seem to need any soothing tonight, but Din still ran a featherlight touch across his brow before stepping back and closing the bunk.

Quiet rushed in, crashing over him and flooding the space like a wave he hadn’t seen coming. He stood there for far too long before he realized there was still noise, plenty of it, too much of it. The _Razor Crest’s_ systems droned on as its body groaned and creaked, just as it did throughout every journey, never calmed by any amount of repair or maintenance. And there was his own breath and heartbeat, carried with him at all times yet only ever noticed when he was...

He shook himself and turned away. The kid was asleep, so now he tended to himself; that was the routine.

He reached for the catch under the lip of his helmet and snagged it, the seal releasing with a soft hiss. He took it off and set it down on a crate standing beside the locker, his eyes adjusting to light no longer filtered through a tinted visor. Pulling his cowl down, the cool cabin air rushed at his ears and sweat dampened hair; it wasn’t enough to draw a shiver or even goosebumps, but it was still unpleasant—for as different as he and the kid were, at least they could agree that the cold sucked.

He removed the rest of his armour and gear, doing so absently, almost mechanically, but not mindlessly. There was an order to it, not that there had to be—it just felt right. After the helmet, he started with the lower left segments and worked his way up in a crisscross pattern.

His _buir_ used to do it that way: laying all the pieces out in a neat line-up, his pauldron bearing the _jai'galaar_ always the last piece removed.

Din didn’t carry his _buir’s_ crest. All foundlings, when of age, could choose to join their finder’s clan or form their own; he chose the latter and his _buir_ respected his decision, he even gave him his blessing, but in the privacy of his own heart, Din knew his motives weren’t what they should have been.

He hadn’t had any intentions of forging a new clan, but saying he did relieved him of attachments and identifying marks, something that made it easier to pour himself into his self-appointed mission: go wherever and do whatever necessary to protect and provide for his people for as long as he had the strength and ability to do so.

If he could serve that purpose to any extent that mattered, then he didn’t care if he met his end without a signet to be remembered by.

With no small appreciation for the concept of irony, calloused fingers ghosted over the mudhorn skull adorning his right pauldron.

A clan of two.

Soon to be just one again.

He cleaned the armour, checked and restocked his gear, and set everything up in an assembly line for the morning, approaching the series of tasks like a machine: do this, then do that, then this, then that. Unlike a machine, however, he had to eat; he had no desire for food tonight and his stomach agreed, but his body needed the fuel so he made himself eat.

He showered, groomed himself, dressed, and took stock of his injuries—treating and redressing the wounds that posed a risk of infection or reopening, bandaging what needed support and pressure to heal or at least to allow him to function, and ignoring the incalculable cuts, scrapes, scratches, burns, and bruises he could do nothing for.

Fatigue pulled at him by the time he was done in the ‘fresher, tugging on his shoulders and rusting his joints. He needed sleep. With everything seen to, he could go to bed; that was the next part of the routine.

But he hesitated.

There were still things to be done, things to prepare; he wasn’t sure what exactly, but he could find something. The day wasn’t over, it couldn’t be, not yet... he didn’t want it to be...

He wasn’t ready.

If he went to bed, he’d sleep, and then morning would come and they would reach Corvus, they’d find the Jedi who would of course love the child and welcome him home... and Din, his quest seen through to the end, would leave.

That’s how it had to be; he knew as much from the start.

The kid was not his. The Armorer called him a foundling, yes, but he couldn’t rightly be deemed one until it was certain his people couldn’t or wouldn’t care for him; Din was to treat him as his own until then, but nothing was set in stone.

The mudhorn skull on his pauldron seemed to glare at him.

Was beskar not stronger than stone?

A muffled cry tore through his haze. His head and attention snapped towards it, his tangled musings evaporating in a flash.

He reached for the panel to open the bunk, sparing just a second to replace his helmet before the door slid up.

The kid was still in the hammock, still swaddled up in his blankets, but he wasn’t sleeping—not completely. Eyes shut tight, his head tossed from side to side, tiny claws clenching into rigid fists, feet kicking at nothing.

Gently, carefully, he rocked the hammock, a string of assurances falling off his tongue, less for the sake of the words and more to give the kid something to hold onto.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here, _ad’ika_.”

The helmet’s vocoder had a tendency to dull his voice, but it still carried true; the kid could hear and feel his words, and that was enough to pull him back.

Teary eyes fluttered open. The world took a moment to come back into focus for the little one, but when it did, shaky arms lifted, desperate and afraid.

Din didn’t hesitate. He gathered the boy, blanket and all, and held him close. A little face nuzzled into his unarmoured chest, ears pinned back as little hands grasped fistfuls of his shirt.

The crying stuttered, easing into whimpers, then the kid must’ve remembered whatever upset him and tumbled into all out sobbing.

Din’s heart twisted. “It was just a nightmare,” he said, keeping his voice low and his tone even as he rubbed slow circles on a back so small he could only use two fingers. “It’s just pictures in your head. They can’t hurt you. Whatever you saw, it’s not real.”

The words had no effect. He couldn’t blame him—the validity of a fear mattered very little when it already had you in its noose. But he didn’t say them to reason; he said them to soothe.

Without thinking, he began pacing what little clear space there was in the cargo hold, developing a monotonous rhythm of five steps up, turn, five steps down, turn, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Gradually, the crying faded to intermittent hiccups, but he didn’t slow down until the kid pulled away to turn blinking eyes rimmed with purple, not red, up at him.

“You with me, buddy?”

The kid babbled pitifully between hitched breaths and burrowed his face back into his guardian’s shirt, his meaning clear: _Don’t put me down just yet._

_Don’t leave._

Nightmares often attacked the kid, but they rarely left him this distressed. He wouldn’t take well to being placed back in his hammock—it felt cruel to even consider it; but they couldn’t pace all night, either.

Din let his breath rush out in a sigh. “Do you want to sleep by me tonight?”

An ear perked up and the kid turned his head just enough that a single eye peeked out. He seemed to consider the offer before answering in a choked but affirmative gurgle.

Din held him with one arm and climbed into the bunk. He gathered a few of his blankets—the newest and least threadbare ones he owned—and fashioned a nest beside his pillow.

The kid squirmed and fussed, another round of cries threatening when he peeled him off his chest, but he calmed quickly when he realized he wasn’t going far.

“You stay here tonight,” Din said; the finger came up again but the admonition in his tone was poorly forced. “Behave yourself.”

The terror left in the nightmare’s wake ebbed away as the boy snuggled into the blankets, got himself comfy, and closed his eyes. He even started snoring, but it was too high-pitched and controlled to be believable; Din wasn’t sure if the boy was trying to make a point or play a game, but he was too tired to humour him and find out, so he let it slide.

When they were both settled, he dimmed the lights.

After a modest stretch of inactivity, the kid dropped the fake snoring and abandoned his makeshift bed, letting out little squeaks as he clambered out of the nest. Towing the edge of his blue blanket over, he moved closer to his guardian, curling right up in the perfect nook created by the man’s neck and shoulder. His contented coos ruined whatever stealthiness he imagined he had.

Din rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he shifted his head to the side to better accomodate the boy. He brought his hand up, let it rest lightly on the small body—the boy needed the warmth, he needed the comfort... he needed him.

“Sleep well, _ad’ika_ ,” he said, his voice hushed. “Our journey’s almost over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Story and chapter title taken from “Lift a Sail” by Yellowcard
> 
> So... I kinda got into The Mandalorian recently...
> 
> If you’ve ever read my stuff, you know I like keeping found families together so, while this part fits fairly well in with canon, I’m gonna steer the story in a different direction.
> 
> (I’m also taking some liberties with the universe because I know about as much as Din does about what’s going on... hopefully my ignorance doesn’t ruin the story too much...)
> 
> 🍁


	2. Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of hopes and fears...

The child was no stranger to nightmares; in fact, they had been the only consistent thing in his life for so, so long.

No two nightmares were ever the same, but they shared their pieces. Usually, it was something coming for him: attacking, hurting, using. There was always darkness, always too much cold and too many looming figures with heavy hands and sharp fingers that held him too tightly.

He had learned not to cry when he had nightmares; the few times he slipped earned him reasons for new ones.

But the Mandalorian wasn’t like his masters, nor was he like the dark men; he didn’t instruct him to quash his fears by himself, but he didn’t punish him into silence either.

They were hiding on the tree world the first time a nightmare hurt the child enough that he woke to his own screams.

His crying woke the Mandalorian. With a grunt and a sigh, he got up from his bed; the floor creaked as he walked over.

Panic lanced through the child. He had to stop; he was making noise and that always got him hurt.

He tried holding his breath, squeezing his eyes closed, even digging his claws into his own palms, but nothing worked.

He couldn’t control the crying, so he resorted to shielding himself. Curling up into a tight ball, he tucked his ears flat against his back, braced and then just waited.

Hands reached for him. The touch ripped an instinctual shriek from him... but the hands brought no pain.

Gently, they scooped him up and held him, just... held him.

The next thing he knew, the man was cradling him against his chest. He wasn’t wearing the metal, so the child could feel his heart beating, strong and steady; he could feel his warmth.

He spoke.

The child flinched, thinking this had to be it: the man really was like the others, he just did things in a different order.

But the words weren’t sharp, they weren’t even loud. There was no command to stop and no lesson.

“It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

The words, soft and kind and unexpected, halted the child’s crying.

The warmth and comfort was unlike anything he had ever known. It surprised him. It confused him. But it felt... right.

As their time together stretched on, nightmares came for him less and less.

Sleep became a peaceful, enjoyable thing with his guardian so nearby; his presence alone held the power to blunt the claws of the darkest fears.

And if one pushed through, if it lashed out and seized him and he couldn’t get away by himself, then his guardian was right there, driving it away and pulling him back to safety. And there were even occasions when he got to help push away his guardian’s fears.

The nightmare that attacked him this night was much worse than the others.

It began like so many before, with those same horrible, faceless figures surrounding him. But they didn’t hurt just him this time; more joined, and they set their sights on the Mandalorian.

They carried him away. For a sickening moment, he let them. He turned his back. He followed.

He left.

A cold, empty feeling washed over the child.

He wouldn’t do that. Ever. No. He wouldn’t leave...

Would he?

Before he got too far, however, something seemed to snap and he stopped. He turned around. He started fighting. He tried to break past them, reaching out for the child, calling his name... (how did he know his name?)

Their hands almost touched...

Then something struck his guardian.

White-hot pain shot through him; the child felt it just as deeply.

He fell and faded into the darkness without a sound.

The child screamed and did something he never did in these nightmares: he fought back. He kicked, he swung his fists, he writhed and twisted and struggled; anything to make them drop him.

He had to get to his guardian. He didn’t care that he had turned away at first; he had changed, he had tried to come back... and that led to him being hurt.

The child had to help him; the Mandalorian needed him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here, _ad’ika_.”

The voice pushed through the dark and the cold like fire.

No, not fire...

Daylight.

The child awoke... and found his guardian alive and well and right in front of him.

He reached for him, desperate to feel his warmth so he could know, he could _know_ he was alive... and that he wasn’t going to disappear.

There was no hesitation, no pushing away, no scolding, no lessons, no pain. Hands as big as the child’s whole body lifted him up. He knew these hands, he trusted them; they were good, they were gentle... they never hurt him.

Relief lasted but a moment before it gave way to something the child couldn’t understand, but it curled around his whole being with an unrelenting pressure.

He huddled into his guardian’s chest, as close as he could until he could not just hear but also feel his heartbeat.

The man talked, his words rumbling, working with his heartbeat and his breathing and his slow, rhythmic pacing. The sound, the feel, the motion... it was wonderful, but it wasn’t what soothed the child.

His guardian was alive. He was here. He was safe. They were together.

The child wanted nothing else.

He wished he could tell him that. He tried, he tried every day, but he couldn’t speak and the Mandalorian didn’t understand the Force.

Still, it needed to be said.

Through the tears, he locked his gaze with the dark visor. His guardian’s eyes hid behind it, he knew that, even though he’d never seen them; he trusted that they would find him.

He babbled. He knew words, he knew lots of words, but he couldn’t get his mouth to make them, so he just poured his meaning into the sounds he could manage and left the rest up to hope.

_Don’t leave._

_Please... don’t leave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poor little 50-year-old baby has been through way too much...
> 
> A short chapter, yes, and I wasn’t going to delve into the nightmare, but then I thought: “hey, you know what’s in there? Character development. Backstory. Maybe even some... foreshadowing?”  
> Yeah. I couldn’t leave it alone then.
> 
> 🍁


	3. My Crooked Path is Set in Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find the Jedi but things don’t go as Din expected...

When Bo-Katan Kryze described Corvus as a forest planet, Din pictured something very different.

Oh, it was a forest planet, alright: trees covered the planet’s surface for as far as the eye could see.

She just neglected to mention they were all _dead_ trees.

Catastrophe had befallen this world. It was an engineered one—none of this appeared natural in the slightest. Too much order, precision... too thorough. Judging by the thick, smoggy clouds residing over the charred earth, it was all a recent affair.

Din locked onto a clearing amongst the barren trees, far enough away from the city that they wouldn’t be seen immediately. The distance would afford them safety, as well as time for him to form an opinion of the area as he passed through.

He did no less than five atmospheric scans on approach. The scanners assured him the air qualified as acceptable, but an old-fashioned visual inspection (and just plain common sense) cautioned: not for extended periods of time.

“This better not take all day,” Din remarked under his breath as the ‘ _Crest_ breached the atmosphere.

Little one made a sound between a snort and a huff.

“I mean this air isn’t all that sanitary; I don’t think it’s healthy to breathe it in for too long,” Din explained, evenly, before reverting to muttering as he focussed back on the controls. “I swear, this Jedi person better just be passing through, because if they actually live here —”

The kid interrupted him with another snort-huff, this time louder, more petulant.

“Come on, that’s not very n—”

The kid blew a sharp raspberry.

“Hey, watch that attitude,” Din said, mindfully moderating the stern tone that threatened to heat his words; neither of them had woken up on the right side of the bunk today.

The kid stated his case with a string of staccato squeaks and warbles, pitching close to whining as they started running together, insistent and just a bit desperate.

“How do you know you don’t like them if you’ve never even met them? Huh?”

Another huff, but this one wavered at the end.

Din twisted in his seat to look over his shoulder. The kid had turned his head to the side; it was meant to be stubborn and defiant, and he was communicating that well enough, but the rapid blinking and the wobbling lip betrayed them as symptoms, not causes.

The urge to set things right bubbled up, but Din had to deny it and force it back down. He couldn’t soften this, not in a way that wouldn’t make it worse: he couldn’t promise this would be over soon or that the kid would somehow enjoy this—he had no way of guaranteeing either. He certainly couldn’t resort to bribery, less so because of the underhanded nature of the tactic and more because he likely wouldn’t be able to see any promise of rewards for good behaviour through.

Turning back around, he let all his breath out in a sigh that just left his lungs heavy.

The landing gear deployed. Repaired and readjusted, the old freighter gifted them their softest landing in weeks. It almost felt wrong not to have a dozen warning lights flashing and multiple alarms blaring as they touched down.

The absence of the engines’ thrumming amplified the constant ringing in Din’s ears and left his skin itching; a faint, familiar but thankfully brief nausea washed through his body as it adjusted to being stationary again.

He cycled through the routine to power down the ship’s systems, double-checking things he never bothered to double-check, actually looking at buttons and switches instead of relying on pure muscle memory. When there was absolutely nothing more he could check or adjust, he let his arms fall back to his sides, hands resting awkwardly on his knees.

With a nudge of his foot against the floor, he swiveled the pilot seat around.

The kid turned his head just a notch in his direction, green ears twitching up.

Right. Usually he said something at this point.

But this time wasn’t like before. This was his last chance; what he said now mattered more than anything.

He wanted to speak. There were so many things he wanted to say but they didn’t necessarily overlap with all the things that needed to be said.

Words and sentiments rattled around in his head.

_We have to do this._

_You have to be with your own kind._

_I have to let you go._

He strung them together and opened his mouth, but the strength to pull his voice up and out of his chest abandoned him.

The kid turned further to face him properly, big brown eyes searching his visor, wary but expectant.

Promises failed. Assurances fled. Admonitions and justifications buckled. If he said what he needed to, his heart wouldn’t be in it; if he said what he wanted to, he would break his vow.

“Stay... stay close to me, okay?” Din said. Even falling back on practicality, he still felt like he was manually hauling the words out of some kind of bone-dry well. “Don’t wander off.”

_Don’t leave._

A beat passed. He worried he may have said the wrong thing, or said too much, or maybe he hadn’t spoken aloud at all and he was going to have to dredge up the strength for another attempt from somewhere.

Then came a chirp. Small, quiet, but full of understanding... of both the said and unsaid.

Little arms lifted.

Din didn’t make him wait. He stood and picked him up, sparing only a second to brush a gloved thumb across a small, green cheek.

The kid caught his thumb with one of his hands before it could pull away. Tiny claws squeezed as he looked up and cooed, purposefully, warmly, then released. His offering of comfort imparted, he squirmed, not to be put down, but to nestle further into the crook of the arm holding him, pressing into the unarmoured space in his guardian’s side.

Din gave in to another sigh; it shuddered near the end.

This was going to be a very, very difficult day...

. . . . .

Corvus’ day cycle was fairly standard in length, but the low clouds of smoke withheld the sunlight, shrouding the tortured forests in a gloomy half-light that obscured time.

Din didn’t notice the day giving way to night, but he couldn’t entirely blame the conditions; all of his focus was trained on the Jedi and the child.

He stationed himself a distance away—far enough to accomodate their privacy, but still well within earshot, just in case. The Jedi, Ahsoka, hadn’t asked him to step away, but standing right there as they conversed without words felt like intruding, never mind the fact he couldn’t eavesdrop... no matter how much he secretly wished to.

Native creatures howled and moaned and cried out in the dark. A stiff wind rattled dead branches. A stream ran on into the night. The silent exchange stretched on and on.

Din paced. There wasn’t any conscious thought behind it, his body just needed to move. He didn’t know what to do with his hands; they hitched on his belt, they folded, they fell at his sides, they ghosted over his blaster... they wouldn’t stop _buzzing_.

Intermittently, he gave in to his curiosity and glanced over. He couldn’t tell what was going on, if it was going well or not, but the kid’s expression worried him. For the most part, his eyes remained focussed on the Jedi woman, engaged and trusting, his ears resting level and calm, but every so often, his face would pinch and his gaze would shift away, his ears twitching or drooping.

He was scared.

Din slowed his pacing and watched the Jedi.

She seemed placid. Her stance was balanced, at ease but not at rest. Her bright eyes focussed on the child, but she remained cognizant of her surrounds. Her expression was much harder to gauge: there were changes throughout the conversation, subtle and soft, but her composure hardly faltered.

At one point, the child’s shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes and the faintest of whimpers escaped an unsteady mouth.

Automatically, Din moved closer, but a glimpse of Ahsoka froze him in place.

She wasn’t hurting the child, nor was she passive. Dark lips twisted and bright eyes shut tight, mirroring the child’s expression.

They were sharing their grief.

Din stepped back. He drifted towards a tree, its trunk gnarled and bent just so to form an adequate bench. Leaning back, not quite sitting, he forced himself to just breathe.

This Ahsoka Tano wasn’t what he expected the Jedi to be.

Looking back, the Armourer had given him scraps to work with: the commission to return the child to his own kind, and the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it history lesson that Mandalorians and Jedi were age-old enemies.

With no further point of reference, Din had imagined the Jedi to be creatures similar to his tiny, green charge, and he anticipated a less than warm welcome when they recognized one of their own in the care of a Mandalorian.

This acrobatic Togruta with her lazer swords and uncanny skill was a surprise, to say the least. And while she had relentlessly attacked him upon meeting, he could tell it was circumstantial rather than some deep-seated hatred of his kind; her countenance had dissolved to something neutral the instant she believed he wasn’t hunting her.

Now, watching her and the child connect, seeing her reach out to him with kindness and patience, Din’s reservations about the Jedi faded.

The last traces of doubt melted away when he saw the child smiling brighter than he had in days.

This was it then. This was who the kid belonged with.

Ahsoka tilted her head, a single brow arching as she glanced to Din.

He started pacing again, but sensing the attention clinging to him, he tapered his steps.

The kid looked between the Jedi and the Mandalorian. Ahsoka smiled and he cooed, his ears perking up. Timidly, he raised his arms.

Ahsoka extricated her hands from the folds of her cloak and pushed herself up before lifting the child. She settled him at her hip, and his eyes never left her face.

Din swallowed thickly.

They seemed to share one last exchange before she nodded, a regal resolve setting across her shoulders with her next breath. She paused to pick up her lantern and then made her way through the tangled undergrowth towards the Mandalorian, her steps light and certain.

Carefully, she set the child down on a stone blanketed with moss then sat down herself.

Din glanced between the two. They had moved closer to him, but their focus remained on one another. His hand came up for a gesture, which he immediately wished to abandon when Ahsoka caught it and looked to him.

“You can... understand him?” he said, asked, observed—he wasn’t even sure.

Ahsoka inclined her head to the side, gaze flitting away and then back. “In a way. Grogu and I can sense each other’s thoughts.”

“Grogu?” he repeated without thinking.

“Eh?” The boy whipped around, eyes wide and shining, ears up and excited.

“Yes. That’s his name,” Ahsoka confirmed, a wisp of a laugh hiding in her tone.

The child blinked up at him, waiting, hoping. When no more words came his way, he returned his attention to the Jedi.

Din shifted his weight on his feet, his throat constricting as thoughts stuttered and stalled. Disbelief and curiosity tussled with one another in the space between his heart and his belly. He took a breath and felt the same sharp spark in his stomach he got when he stood too near a cliff’s edge.

“Grogu?”

“Ba?” Again, the kid turned to him in half a heartbeat, attentive and... thrilled.

An incredulous smile tugged at Din’s lips but a bittersweet taste played across his tongue. Some barrier between them had just crumbled—a barrier he had been using for protection.

“He was raised in the Jedi temple on Coruscant,” Ahsoka explained. Din had to force himself to tune in to her words. “Many masters trained him over the years. At the end of the Clone Wars, when the Empire rose to power, he was hidden. Someone took him from the temple. Then his memories become... dark. He seemed lost. Alone. I've only known one other being like this: a wise Jedi Master named Yoda.”

Sadness tainted her words, different shades blending together. Some of it was sympathy, some of it was memory.

Din listened, eager to store up every word, treating every sliver of information with the same high level of significance. So little made sense to him, but he wanted to understand. Even so, his focus still divided itself to watch the kid... Grogu.

While Ahsoka talked, he started slumping where he sat, eyes growing heavier by the second. There was something more than simple fatigue weighing him down.

Din resisted the urge to gather him up in his arms. It burned, but this was to be Ahsoka’s role now.

Grogu put a hand out to catch himself from falling over on the rock.

Din’s hands twitched; he balled them into fists so tight his knuckles ached.

“I think someone’s stayed up past their bedtime,” Ahsoka remarked, her tone soft and almost fond. She moved and Din let himself relax for the split second before he realized she wasn’t reaching for the child, just slipping her arms back into the warmth of her cloak.

He caved. Bending down, he scooped the boy up. “Using his powers tires him out,” he explained. A part of him meant it as an apology, another meant it as an rebuke.

Her brow furrowed for a moment, like he’d said something nonsensical, but it quickly smoothed out. “Best let him sleep. We can still talk.” She nodded to the stone.

He lowered himself to the ground, using the stone as a backrest rather than a seat. Holding the kid with one arm, he used the other to pull his cloak over his shoulder; slinging and folding the fabric across his chest, he tucked the end into his belt.

Grogu stirred as Din slipped him into the crude pouch, snuffling and squirming, but he stilled easily when gentle fingers brushed across his forehead.

“He feels at peace with you.” Ahsoka was smiling, a twinkle in her eyes Din could only read as knowing.

“He usually falls asleep pretty easily,” he said, his voice hushing of its own accord.

A single brow dipped ever so slightly. “Usually?”

Din got the sense he’d stepped wrong. “Some nights... some nights are harder than others.”

“Nightmares?”

He hesitated then nodded. “I think they’re my fault.”

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes, her head tilting to her shoulder. “Why’s that?”

Something like ice formed in his heart, spreading painfully through his veins with every subsequent beat. “When we were first travelling together, he rarely woke from nightmares. But, in the last few weeks, he’s been getting them every other night. We... I’ve put him in a lot of danger. That’s why... that’s why he needs you. He needs to return to his own kind.”

Ahsoka drew back with a deep breath and regarded him for a long moment with an even expression that gave him nothing. “When his memories went dark, it wasn’t that he forgot. His mind is... vast. He can’t forget; not easily. So he’s been trying to hide things from himself, but he can’t lose them; they come back.”

In the space between his words and hers, Din had anticipated judgement; it was the least he deserved. This... he wasn’t sure what to make of this...

“When we were connecting, he let me into his memories,” Ahsoka continued, “but there were many places he pushed me away from. He let me see the fall of the Jedi from his eyes because that’s a time we both remember, but he withheld whatever happened to him in the years following. I could only sense how he felt.”

 _Lost. Alone_.

The words echoed in Din’s ears, louder than the ringing. Unconsciously, his hand came up to cup the child’s back, his thumb stroking a tiny shoulder through the cloak’s thick fabric, as if with just a simple touch he could chase away all the untold horrors life had inflicted on this little one.

“The darkness ended the day you found him.”

For a moment, Din wasn’t sure if he had actually heard that or if it was some kind of wild wish. He looked up, and Ahsoka’s smile tried to assure him, “Yes, it’s true.”

“He was very insistent on showing me your time together.” She laughed with just a lilt in her breath. “He got a little overexcited. I couldn’t keep up with all of it, but it seems you’ve had quite the adventure.”

“It hasn’t been a very straightforward road,” he said, guilt tugging at him.

She hummed at that. “Life hardly ever is.” Something old and knowing shone in her smile, but that sadness was still there: controlled but not erased.

Moonlight pierced through a fading parting in the clouds drifting overhead. The pale beams reflected off beskar, highlighting Grogu’s tranquil face as it found and nuzzled into the gap between the armour plates at Din’s side.

The wind pulled the clouds over the moon like a veil. Din folded his arms just beneath the makeshift sling, pressing just hard enough that the cuirass dug into the bruises he’d accumulated over the past few days.

“It got us here; that’s all that matters,” he asserted, abruptly, gruffly, his voice still low. “I have no choice: I can’t train him as a Mandalorian, so I’ve been quested to return him to his own kind. I’ve worked hard and spared nothing to find you. Now I just need your word that you will care for him and that will be the end of it.”

Her composure cooled. She didn’t stiffen, but his tone and his words raised some kind of barrier.

He didn’t care; he couldn’t. For months, he had yielded to countless detours, justifying every deviation and distraction as a necessity. But every second he delayed had only served to erode his resolve to the point his heart and his honour were locked on opposing sides of a war. If he allowed it to go on any longer from here, he knew which side would win.

He had vowed, as a Mandalorian, to reunite the child with his people, and true Mandalorians saw their vows through to the end—no matter the cost.

_This is the Way._

“I’ll have to see if he can still wield the Force,” Ahsoka said, finally.

“Thank you.”

“But not tonight. It’s late and we all need rest.” She lowered herself to the ground, laying down on her side; Din didn’t fail to notice she turned her back towards him. “I’ll test him in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR version  
> Din, screaming into the Force: Don’t take my son away!  
> Grogu: Don’t take me away from my dad!  
> Ahsoka, just going about her day, tending to her Very Important QuestTM, not at all expecting to have to deal with *this*: wat
> 
> * Chapter title taken from the song “Set in Stone” by Ari Hest (it really sets the mood for this installment)
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! You’ve all been so sweet and you make writing an even greater joy!
> 
> 🍁


	4. Into the Open Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din tells a story...

Morning came.

No songs of birds or warmth from the sun heralded the new day, just a stumbling shift from dim moonlight to diffused sunlight.

Ahsoka was nowhere within sight when Din awoke, but her cloak lay half draped, half folded on one of the stones as a promise to return.

The child was already awake but still bundled up in the sling. Usually, if he woke up first, he made sure his guardian knew: many a morning, Din woke to soft squeaks as the boy climbed out of his hammock, babbling as he came toddling along the bunk, rustling the blankets as he went. Din would pretend to still be asleep as the little one peered at him, squinting as if to try see through the visor; when he of course failed to do so, he started tapping away at the helmet, blunt claws clinking insistently against beskar until he got a reaction.

But not today.

Judging by the clarity of his gaze, he’d been awake for quite a while, but he hadn’t moved; he was more than capable of getting out of the pouch and fussing until he got attention or food, but he had opted to stay put. Quiet and contemplative, he just lay there, staring at the mythosaur pendant, tiny hands clutching the tusks.

No, not staring; studying. The slight furrow in his brow betrayed purposeful concentration, not idle occupation.

Din frowned. He got the sense he was missing something here, he just couldn’t put his finger on it...

Well, whatever it was, he had to let it lie—they had a day to get on with.

He took a breath, slow and deep, and unfolded his arms, stretching out as if he were unlocking his joints (which, admittedly, he was; sleeping on the forest floor with his back resting against an unforgiving boulder wasn’t pleasant business and his body vehemently reminded him he was on the wrong side of thirty to be doing this so regularly).

Big eyes snapped up towards the helmet the second he moved. “Baba?”

“Yeah, I’m up,” Din said, voice rough as sand. “Want a hand outta there?”

There wasn’t a nod or an explicit affirmation, but there was no protest either so he reached in and lifted the child out of the makeshift hammock, setting him down on his lap while he went about untucking the cloak from his belt.

The boy was awake and alert, but his body was still lax from sleep. Lazily, he shuffled, moving closer to curl up snugly against his guardian’s stomach. Tucking his ears back, he nuzzled in, turning his face just enough to continue gazing at the pendant—he hadn’t let go of it for even a moment.

Pure instinct had Din raising his hand. When he registered the action, he twitched and put the order through to halt, to pull away. It went unheeded and his hand came to rest over the boy’s body, holding him in place.

He told himself it was okay. Ahsoka wasn’t here right now and the kid needed the warmth so it was fine. They could still have this... just this.

Without moving his hand away, he unfurled a finger and tapped the little metal skull. “I always wanted to see a real mythosaur. _Buir_ said they were bigger than starships and that their roars were so loud, they stopped the hearts of entire armies.” He frowned to himself, struggling to comprehend where all that had come from so suddenly.

Inquisitive eyes blinked up at him, green and pink ears angling to catch his every word. He let out a small, prompting coo. Din supposed it was an odd place to leave the story...

“The whole galaxy avoided the planet the mythosaur roamed because they were impossible to tame,” he continued, the words flowing easily. “But the Mandalorians learned their secret: they would accept no masters, only equals. You had to earn their respect, but once you did, they would valiantly carry you into battle. They wouldn’t leave your side, and if you were truly worthy, they’d even fight for you.” He huffed; it was as close to a chuckle as he ever managed. “The way he talked about them, I thought he rode one.”

A single claw traced the hollows of the skull’s eyes. Din moved his finger to stroke the back of the tiny hand.

“But he... they died a long, long time ago.” Something more than sleep and the need for water left his voice hoarse.

The kid tilted his head back, aiming wide eyes up at the visor.

Din let his breath out in a shaky exhale, his words only just catching up with him. He hadn’t mentioned his _buir_ since... well...

The kid locked his gaze back on the pendant. His focus sharpened, his eyes narrowing as his brow furrowed. He opened his hands but instead of simply dropping as it should, the pendant hung in the air as if suspended by an invisible string, twirling slowly.

Without thinking, Din brought his other hand up underneath the skull, catching it easily when the kid released his strange hold on it.

Reaching up over his head, the kid’s fingers grappled for the cord. He snagged it and pulled, grunting as he tried and failed to navigate the cord around his ears.

“What are you...? Wait, no!”

The boy squeaked in surprise and Din mentally kicked himself—he hadn’t meant to sound so stern.

Carefully, he slipped the pendant back into the boy’s robe and gave it a gentle press through the fabric, right over his heart. “I don’t want to take it back, _ad’ika_ ,” he said, softening his voice until the helmet’s modulator could just barely pick it up. “When you give this to someone, you aren’t supposed to take it back. It’s... a part of you that becomes a part of them.”

His voice carried the words, but they echoed in his memory with a different timbre.

Puzzled, the kid glanced down and mimicked the motion, laying his tiny green hand with its three odd little fingers over the orange tips of his guardian’s gloves. After a moment, understanding smoothed his brow and he tried to mirror the gesture, reaching up as far as he could manage to tap the chestplate right over his guardian’s heart.

Din shut his eyes, his throat closing of its own accord.

_You will always be a part of me._

He sighed and moved the kid off him, placing him gently on the ground. “We better... we better get breakfast. You’re gonna need fuel so you can show the nice lady your powers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Does this actually have a plot or is it just a bunch of soft Din and Grogu moments stacked together in a trenchcoat?  
> Also me: No, no; there’s a plot.  
> Me:... Because it looks like you’re just stacking father-and-son bonding moments on top of each other and calling it a plot.  
> Also me: There’s a plot! I swear!  
> Me: Well? Where is it?  
> Also me:  
> Me:  
> Also me:... somewhere underneath the soft Din and Grogu moments.


	5. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grogu demonstrates his abilities and Ahsoka sees the way things really are...

Ahsoka led them deeper into the woods.

Healing had begun in this stretch of the forest. Greenery peeked through the ashen earth, sprouting timid and fragile but hopeful. The air was cleaner here, and Din’s helmet picked up the sound of running water growing nearer as they followed a winding but well trodden path.

It didn’t take him long to realize this was the Jedi’s usual camping site. Uncannily, her lips quirked the very moment he reached that conclusion; the glint in her eyes seemed to say: “See? You can trust me because I’m trusting you.”

Nonetheless, his guard remained fixed in place—he didn’t yet feel comfortable with any other setting—but his apprehension was fading.

They reached a small clearing not far from a freshwater stream. Ahsoka slowed and came to a stop. She spared him a glance before turning to the child.

Din expected her to take him into her arms but she only tapped the kid’s nose and drew back. “Let’s see what knowledge is lurking inside that little mind,” she said, voice lilting with a playfulness that hadn’t seen light for quite some time.

She gestured to a small boulder, smooth and flat from a life of providing a seat for idle wanderers.

The kid let out a small whimper as Din set him down, eyes growing wide and shiny, claws digging into the ridges of his vambraces. Fighting the urge to pull him back and keep him close, Din pried the little fingers off, gave his back a pat and whispered a few quick assurances before stepping away.

In the corner of his field of vision, Ahsoka crouched to the ground and plucked a stone out of the thick carpet of leave litter and charcoal, inspecting it briefly. Rising, she rubbed it on her hip as she moved to station herself directly in the kid’s line of sight.

Well, it would have been in the kid’s line of sight, if he hadn’t twisted where he sat, casting an uncertain gaze to the Mandalorian.

“Over here, little one,” Ahsoka prompted.

An ear twitched but he didn’t budge until Din shrugged a shoulder in her direction.

Ahsoka had to have noticed but she said nothing, just smiled approvingly when the child turned to face her.

Holding out her arm, she opened her hand and the stone rose into the air, suspended by nothing visible. Nothing in her expression or stance changed or even flickered as she held the stone aloft; this was as simple as breathing to her.

Smoothly, decisively, but not at all hurried, the stone crossed the distance.

Seeing the kid’s powers wielded with such precision and ease left Din more than a little awestruck... and just that much more aware of how woefully inadequate a guardian he was...

The kid watched the stone glide towards him, a cautious fascination sparkling in his gaze. He raised his hands to receive it; once he had it in his grasp, he turned it over and over as if examining it.

“Now,” Ahsoka said, nodding to her waiting hand, “give me the stone, Grogu.”

The kid’s head tilted but his ears remained level and still. He didn’t even bother to look up at her.

“Grogu,” she repeated, patience and sternness braiding together. “Send the stone back.”

“He doesn’t understand,” Din said, maybe just a touch too quickly; definitely too desperately

Ahsoka glanced to him, just a flick of her eyes. “No, he does.” She fluttered her fingers and stretched her hand out further. “Grogu. The stone.”

Finally, he looked up at her. Ears drooping, his brow creased as he shifted his gaze almost frantically between her and the Mandalorian. He looked back at the stone and for a moment he seemed to be concentrating, but the stone didn’t so much as wobble in his grasp. He opened his hands and it just dropped to his lap.

Ahsoka lowered her arm, head canting to the side, eyes narrowing as if she were studying a strange puzzle.

“He can do it,” Din assured. “He’s just being stubborn.”

If he weren’t watching her so closely, he would’ve missed the slight shake of her head. “No, there’s something else.” With careful steps, she approached the child. Crouching down, she took his hand with just a single finger and ran her thumb over his blunt claws.

His back stiffened and he regarded her with caution but not total mistrust. After a moment wherein Din assumed they were doing that talking-without-words thing again, they overcame some barrier and the kid dipped his head forward until their foreheads just barely touched.

A sigh softened the set of her shoulders. “I sense much fear in you,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. Giving his hand a quick squeeze, she pulled away, her face setting with something that was as much resolve as it was understanding. Nimbly, she collected the stone and stood.

The kid raised his head to watch her return to her previous spot but there wasn’t a trace of curiosity or even interest in his gaze. Absently, Din recalled the last time he saw those eyes that clouded and distant, back on Nevarro, right before he handed him over to the Imps...

“He’s hidden his abilities to survive over the years,” Ahsoka explained, folding her arms but not closing off her stance.

“He still has them,” Din said and stifled a groan at how weak an assurance it sounded even to his own ears. He forged ahead anyway. “I’ve seen him lift a charging mudhorn clean off its feet. He healed a man dying from poison. He even held back a raging fire.”

If his words affected Ahsoka, she didn’t show it. Either the clipped accounts really were as unbelievable as he feared... or she already knew.

“Let’s try something.” She stepped to the side and nodded to the spot she just vacated. “Come over here.”

The kid glanced to his guardian.

Din tipped his helmet in Ahsoka’s direction. “You heard her.”

All that got was a soft raspberry and the little womp rat had the audacity to mimic the head tilt.

“See? Told you he was stubborn.”

Amusement crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Not him. You.” She held the stone out but didn’t make it move like she had before. “I want to see if he’ll listen to you.”

“That’d be a first,” Din grumbled as he trudged over.

She placed the stone in his gloved hand, and finally let her lips join the smile. “I like firsts; good or bad, they’re always memorable.”

 _Whether you like it or not_ , the cynic in him tacked on as he rolled his shoulder. Feeling ridiculous but increasingly desperate, he raised his hand and rolled the stone in his fingers.

The kid perked up.

“Okay. Lift the stone,” he instructed, consciously trying to imitate her patient yet firm tone from earlier; it just sounded patronizing coming from him, so he dropped it. “Come on, take it, kid.”

“Grogu,” Ahsoka corrected as she stepped past him.

He bristled, pressing his mouth into a tight line and clenching his jaw to hold back a childish retort. Turning back to the kid, he tried to ease his stance with a deliberate breath. “Grogu?”

Green ears shot right up. “Baba?” the kid replied, his whole demeanour brightening.

Din ignored the flip his stomach did. “Come on. Lift the stone.”

He got a blink... and another head tilt... one little hand twitched...

That was it.

“You see? What did I tell you?” Din looked over to Ahsoka, exaggerating the turn of his helmet to make sure she read his irritation as he tossed the rock to the ground—the stupid, useless rock the kid couldn’t care less for. “He’s stubborn.”

“Try to connect with him,” she suggested, her patience easily enduring his gruff frustration.

He stifled a huff, letting it out as a heavy sigh instead.

This was stupid.

How was he supposed to connect with the kid? He didn’t have whatever power he and Ahsoka shared; he couldn’t talk with him and see his memories and know everything about him in one sitting. He couldn’t sense his emotions and know exactly why he did or didn’t do something.

And that was fine. Completely fine. He wasn’t meant to.

All he was to the child was a guardian, a mere protector and caregiver for as long as it took them to find his own kind.

And here his kind stood. It was up to her now, not him. He had done everything in his power to hold up his end of this extraordinary deal and he had finally found her. Now all she had to do was step up, accept her responsibility to care for her own, and bring this whole story to a close.

Instead, she kept her distance and just watched, leaning with folded arms against a dead tree, suspending them on the edge of a farewell they had lived in the shadow of for far too long.

Din looked back at the kid, and hopeful eyes wasted no time finding his visor.

Ahsoka’s words echoed in his mind and, not for the first time, he wondered just what had those eyes seen... and what could they possibly see now?

They weren’t connected.

They didn’t share this power. Their kinds were enemies. The kid didn’t know his face, and until recently, Din didn’t know his name; they were strangers to each other.

And yet... how little that had meant all the days he chose to go hungry so the kid could eat or all those nights they chased each other’s nightmares away or all the times the kid noticed his injuries and tried to heal him—if not with his powers, then with his presence.

Unseen faces and unspoken names hadn’t held him back from violating the Guild Code. He had smeared his own reputation and become a nomad because he couldn’t stand the thought of harm coming to a child whose favourite pastime was finding new and creative ways to steal a stupid gear knob.

Din glanced down at his belt where said knob currently resided. Despite it digging into his hip joint all night long, he’d forgotten about it.

He slipped it out and rolled it between his fingers.

Maybe... maybe he couldn’t “connect” with the kid, but at least he understood him.

He held the ball up; the kid’s face lit up and he could do nothing to stop a smile of his own. “Grogu? Do you want this?”

At the sound of his name, his ears swung up and forward. He switched his gaze between the visor and the gear knob, his fingers ticking in a grabbing, requesting motion.

Din had to quash the urge to just stride over and hand it to him—that wasn’t what they were here for. Crouching down, he rested on his haunches and nodded to the ball. “You can have it.” He dared to extend his hand just that much further. “Go on. Take it.”

Grogu understood. Focus sharpened his gaze and creased his brow. His hands stopped asking and instead moved as if clasping around the ball from afar.

That same, inexplicable force wrapped around the ball, tugging at it like a strong magnet, trying to pry it free from Din’s fingers.

With just the slightest flick of his wrists, Grogu pulled the ball to him. It darted through the air and he caught it perfectly.

“Good job!” Din exclaimed, clambering to his feet and closing the distance between them without a thought. “Good job, kid!”

Grogu held the ball up to the visor and chirped cheerily and... and what had to be one of the brightest smiles in the galaxy graced his little face.

“I knew you could do it!” He gave his back a pat—it was all he could do to stop himself from sweeping him up in an embrace. He turned to Ahsoka. “Did you see that?”

“He’s formed a strong attachment to you,” she acknowledged, evenly.

Din swallowed, suddenly breathless, and consciously smoothed out the grin that had split his face without permission. He couldn’t think of how to respond.

Something nudged his fingers and he looked back at Grogu trying to push the ball back into his hand, eyes big and excited and asking.

Ahsoka pushed away from the tree she’d been leaning against, her arms unfurling. “I cannot train him.”

Din was back on his feet in a heartbeat. “What? Why not? Didn’t you see what he can do?”

She started walking away, head bowed, attention pointedly diverted to watching her steps. “His attachment to you makes him vulnerable to his fears.”

Disbelief and anger fused together, a hot frustration ignited. _What kind of an excuse was that?_ “All the more reason to train him.”

“No!” Ahsoka rounded on him. The steadfast resolve, he expected; but the pain, the grief hardening her features made him take a step backwards. “I’ve seen what fear that great can do to a fully trained Jedi knight—to the best of us.” Her gaze shifted past him, to Grogu sitting and watching them with a concerned tilt of his head. Something wore down her edge; Din could only call it sympathy. “I will not start this child down that path. It would be better to let his abilities fade.”

She closed her eyes, something far away and tragic playing behind them in the space between breaths; when she opened them again, it was all gone. “Now. I must get back to the village.” She turned and resumed her path, her course and her mind set. “I’ve delayed too long.”

Din’s heart lurched.

After everything they had been through, they had finally found a Jedi, they finally found who the kid belonged with, and here she was, walking away.

His mind raced.

What had he done wrong? What had the kid done wrong? How could they fix it? How could these Jedi not care for children of their own kind? How could he persuade her?

“The Magistrate sent me to kill you,” he blurted.

Well, it stopped her.

Shoulders tensing, she turned, slowly, her fingers brushing the hilts of her twin lazer swords in a dare, a challenge... a warning.

Din only caught the corner of her eye, but he recognized the fire of a survivor.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” he amended, quickly.

Her posture didn’t soften but he couldn’t blame her.

With too much to lose, he fell back on his most tried and true tactic: bargaining.

“I’ll help you.”

A single, white marked brow arched.

He had her interest. Good.

He pointed to the kid who had occupied himself throughout this entire exchange with gazing at the gear knob. “But you must promise me you will see to it that he is trained.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din: If I liberate two more random towns I was only supposed to pass through, I get a free coffee.


	6. The Moment I Hold You to Me is When I Stop Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grogu gets the chance to make his decision known.  
> But first, two brothers talk...

“I’m worried about the child.”

“Is he unwell?”

“No. I don’t know. He... he won’t talk.”

“Can he hear?”

“Yes, though he does struggle. The explosions... they damaged his ears.”

“Have you taken him to the healer?”

“When we first returned to the Covert and again this morning. She said his hearing is recovering well enough. Slowly, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Maybe he doesn’t understand you.”

“It’s not that. The people of Aq Ventina had their own tongue—it’s similar to Basic, actually—but they were mostly bilingual. He understands what I’m saying to him, I know he does, but he won’t speak, won’t answer questions or ask for things I know he needs. He only spoke once, to give me his name, but that was it.”

“This isn’t unusual. Taking on a foundling is a journey, _vod_ ; a rather long one.”

“I’m not afraid of that. I want to help him.”

“Have you told him that?”

“You mean the _gai bal manda_? Do you... do you think I’m ready for it?”

“I thought you said you aren’t afraid.”

“I meant I’m not afraid of the responsibility.”

“Then what’s held you back?”

“He deserves someone better than me.”

“And I’m sure there’s thousands out there. But that’s just the thing: they’re all out there, and you’re here. From the moment you found him, you’ve been protecting him, caring for him, worrying about him. That hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done. That’s nothing special.”

“To him, it’s everything. You’re all he has now, and you’re like a father to him.”

“I just want what’s best for him.”

“But why can’t you accept that you may be what’s best for him?”

. . . . .

Joy broke out in Calodan.

Shouts and cheers filled the air as people poured from their homes, no longer prisoners in their own city.

It didn’t take long for lanterns and banners and music and dancing to join the celebration. The songs were unique: lilting and twinkling with chimes and flutes and strings, the melody wistful and hopeful, not pulsing or overly envigorating. Voices melded with the instruments, individually dry and abused, but lush and heartwarming once combined.

Din stood at the foot of the watchtower, just outside the city gates, keeping vigil as dawn and jubilation arose. For a little while, it was all that mattered, and he let it lift his spirit for that time.

Ahsoka meandered purposefully through the crowd, accepting the people’s expressions of gratitude with grace and dignity, rightful triumph curbed by solemnity. The beskar spear accompanied her, wielded as a staff rather than a weapon.

As she drew closer, she let her gaze settle on the Mandalorian, her chin lifting just a notch in a silent question.

Din responded with a discreet dip of his helmet.

She came and stationed herself companionably at his side; for a moment, it was easy to pretend she was nothing but an old friend coming to join him in watching the world.

A round of great cheers and applause rippled through the crowd. At the centre stood the man who had helped free the prisoners. The townsfolk draped the Magistrate’s robe over his shoulders, a gesture he accepted humbly but readily; absently, Din wondered if this was a restoration of the man’s original position or if this was a new privilege a grateful people bestowed upon him.

”Thank you,” Ahsoka said after a while. She nodded to the impromptu festival claiming the city square. “They won’t forget what you did for them.”

Belatedly, he shrugged, keeping his visor trained forward.

“I believe this,” she tipped the spear towards him; “is your reward.”

He looked it over but his arms remained at his sides. “I can’t accept; I didn’t finish the job.”

She inclined her head to the side and gave him a smile from a trickster lost to age. “No, but this belongs with a Mandalorian.” She tapped the blunt end on the stone paving by his boots, eliciting a high-pitched ting that echoed between the watchtowers and scurried off into the dead forests. “Don’t you think so?”

A thought strayed to his ancestors who smithed and brandished this spear. Indeed, they would’ve wanted a _Mando’ad_ to carry it on for them.

Graciously, his hand clasped around the shaft and he tilted his helmet back as he admired the spearhead.

An ironic smile tugged at his lips. Just what would they say of the Jedi who handed it to him, or of the fact that he had fought alongside her today instead of trading her life for the spear?

“Where’s your little friend?” Ahsoka asked, smile softening from conspiratorial to friendly.

“Back at the ship.” Halfheartedly, he levered the spear as if testing its weight, his gaze drifting towards the forests—somehow, they looked even blacker than before. “Wait here; I’ll... go get him.”

Beskar in hand and lead in his chest, he slipped away.

The trek back to the _Razor Crest_ seemed both too long and too quick; the sight of it nestled safely amongst the charred trees brought a paradox of relief and dread.

He pressed a button on the inside of his vambrace and the ramp lowered, its customary groans and hisses muted by the city’s music, the people’s singing, and his own heart’s overzealous beating.

Grogu was right where he’d left him: bundled up in his hammock, his sleep deep and peaceful. No nightmares had come for him in his guardian’s absence.

Din set the spear down and left it leaning against the hull as he approached the boy. He brought a hand up to shake the scrappy bed but he could do no more than rock it gently.

“Wake up, buddy.” His throat constricted, stubbornly cutting his voice out. He swallowed past it; he needed to speak now. “It’s... time to say goodbye.”

The kid’s eyelids fluttered open but his eyes didn’t even get a chance to focus before he lost the battle and they slipped closed again.

Din made to shake the bed again. Ahsoka was waiting for them; they couldn’t afford to waste any more time and risk her leaving.

He let his breath just fall out, his shoulders suddenly too heavy for his back.

Not one second spent with the child would he ever consider wasted.

With careful, measured movements, he took the little one into his arms and cradled him close. Cupping the back of his head, he guided it to the crook between his elbow and his side: the unarmoured spot the kid always sought.

The change didn’t disturb Grogu; even asleep, he knew whose arms held him. He only woke far enough to nuzzle in and heave a baby-soft sigh.

Din sank down to sit on the edge of the bunk, his strength and resolve ebbing.

They had been living in the shadow of this goodbye for so long—ever since their paths crossed. It was insidiously exhausting, like hearing a blaster charging and bracing for the impact but instead of firing and getting it over with, it just kept building and building until you couldn’t decide what would be worse: the actual shot or endless anticipation.

How much easier it would’ve been to part ways before all these months of borrowed time, before they’d covered half the galaxy together, before the Armourer called him a foundling, before they shared a signet... before Din knew the child had a name and a story.

Now they were a part of each other, and he couldn’t imagine life without a passenger to look out for.

He couldn’t remember the man who had travelled the stars by himself for years and years, the man who found solace in the overwhelming solitude that drove many a creature insane; when he tried, he found he couldn’t recognize him. He had inhabited this body, he had worn this very helmet, but he was not the same soul... and whatever heart he had carried in his chest, it couldn’t be the same one hurting now.

Grogu’s hand twitched—an idle, involuntary motion.

Din nudged the tiny fist; it opened and clasped around the tip of his finger, the boy too deep asleep for the gesture to be anything but instinctual. Gently, Din adjusted his hand so he could rub his thumb over Grogu’s knuckles.

Time passed; he didn’t care to keep track of it.

He sat on the bunk for what must’ve been over an hour just holding the kid.

Duty tugged persistently at him to get up and go, fulfill his word, see his quest through. But the kid was still so fast asleep—if he returned to the city and placed him in Ahsoka’s arms right now, he likely wouldn’t wake up... and they wouldn’t get a proper farewell.

A part of Din wondered if that wouldn’t be a kindness; the other part remembered his parents, his _buir_ , his brothers and sisters from the Tribe... he hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye to any of them.

His parents said things to him, things he couldn’t hear but in the fringes of his dreams he could read it on their faces: his mother’s desperate “I love you” and his father’s earnest “Don’t be afraid.” His own voice was nowhere to be found.

He was still training in the Fighting Corps. when his _buir_ died. Killed by Imperials, his armour gathered, stolen, not a scrap of it making it back to his _ad_. Din couldn’t remember what he’d said to him last but it couldn’t have been enough.

There hadn’t been time to properly thank and farewell all his brothers and sisters before he left. From the piles of helmets littering Nevarro’s sewers, he knew with many he would never get the chance.

After all they’d been through, Din couldn’t bear the thought of handing the kid away while he slept, to let the last memory of them together remain as a solemn dinner and a promise to return soon.

So, he stayed and held him and waited...

. . . . .

Grogu didn’t wake until noon.

Much like the day before, he made none of his usual fuss, but his stomach was grumbling something terrible.

Without waiting for a request in any form, Din prepared a meal for him—another pack of the hearty meat and mushroom stew he’d gone nuts over just the other day. This time, it hardly interested him, and he barely ate half.

Din cleaned him up and dressed him in a fresh robe. The kid didn’t fight, didn’t try to play around and make the task difficult, he just submitted, all the while casting a subdued gaze around the cabin, his ears hanging down as if too heavy for his head.

They were just stealing time now and the boy knew it.

He raised his head as Din finished fixing his collar and cuffs. Big eyes locked on the visor but the warmth, the mischief, the rabid curiosity and bubbling kindness was nothing but embers. A weathered sense of defeat and acceptance clouded over his listlessness; all of a sudden, it wasn’t so hard to believe his age.

Resolve shored up by commitment, Din held him close and headed out the ship, path set for Calodan’s gates. Hopefully, somewhere along the way, a decent farewell would come to mind.

But, it looked like he wasn’t going to get such a chance...

He wasn’t halfway down the ramp when he saw Ahsoka threading through the trees, her gait purposeful but leisurely. Despite how late Din had let the day go, there was not a trace of impatience in her composure.

Respecting some invisible boundary encircling the ship, she came to a stop a good few paces away from the open hatch.

Din looked up from his steps, caught her warm smile, and just looked down again.

“You’re like a father to him,” she remarked.

It would’ve stunned and hurt far less if she had just lunged forward and run him through with her lazer swords.

He couldn’t think of a safe way to reply or a truthful way to deny, so he said nothing as he came to stand before her.

Resignedly, Grogu angled his gaze towards her.

She gave more to the smile but it quickly faded with that same, too old sadness Din picked up on the day before. “I cannot train him.”

“You made me a promise,” he reminded her, weary frustration straining his tone. “And I upheld my end.”

Unfazed and decided, her arms folded, hidden beneath her cloak. “You asked me to see to it that the child is trained, and I agreed to that; but I never promised to take him from you.”

His jaw clenched.

A technicality. All this time, all this way, and here she was catching him on a technicality that required a ridiculous amount of back bending to even grasp.

Grogu glanced between them, his brow pinching.

“He’s needs to be with his own kind,” Din said, fighting now to keep his voice even. “He has to be with a Jedi.”

Ahsoka’s smile twitched and turned lopsided. “Well, then that disqualifies me. I’m not a Jedi.”

“ _What_?” Din veered dangerously close to shouting, he knew, he hated it, hated the feeling of raising his voice, the way his vocoder and his helmet made it sound, but... was she really so opposed to taking on the care of this child that she would go so far as to disown her own people? “But—but you have the same powers! I’ve seen what you can do!”

“The ability to wield the Force does not make one a Jedi,” she explained, her words succinct, her tone calm. “The Order fell a long time ago and I left before then. I only carry the name as a tribute.”

Din backed down. The story was much, much longer than she let on; he couldn’t see all of that, but he could see the strength, the resilience, the mourning—this was not a woman who simply gave up on her beliefs or her people. He especially could respect that.

Grogu cooed and stretched out a hand to her; she obliged, offering him a finger to hold. Judging by how they focussed on each other, Din assumed they were... thought-speaking again.

“Do you know of any others?” he asked eventually.

“I’m searching for one. A dear friend. I have a better chance of finding him after today.” Bright eyes flicked up and fixed on the dark visor. “Thank you again.”

“And your friend?” Din pressed. “Would he train Grogu?”

She shrugged. “I can’t say. He’d love to meet you though.” She slipped her finger out of the child’s grasp and tapped the tip of his nose, earning her a giggle. Taking a step back, she folded her arms again in the warmth of her cloak. “But I can’t commit him to anything. He has a family to get back to and many years to make up for.”

Grogu drew his hand back and let it rest on top of the hand holding him securely. Without thinking, Din shifted his hold so he could give the little hand a squeeze between his thumb and forefinger.

“I gave my word to—”

“Reunite him with his own kind,” Ahsoka interjected. “I know. He let me see that memory.”

“He... remembers that?”

“He does.” Her head tipped impishly to the side. “And, if I recall correctly, there were actually two conditions...”

Daily, the Armourer’s words echoed in his memory, the regal authority of her voice ringing clear and certain.

_Until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father._

In a way, he had already accepted that path, of caring for the child until he found a place to belong, but to have his goal defined and set as an official quest by someone so respected added a weighty value to every subsequent step.

He just... hadn’t expected to reach a fork in the road.

Grogu wrapped his hand around Din’s thumb and squeezed, grounding him.

This wasn’t a path he thought he could take... but, when he looked back, it wasn’t hard to see that they had both strayed quite far along it already.

“He’s never had a family,” Ahsoka said. “What you’ve done for him, what you’ve given him... he’s never had it before.” She shook her head, the sad smile fading. “He needs you; not me.”

Din let his breath out; it was just a short sigh but it felt like it took all the air he’d ever held in his lungs. “But I don’t... I don’t have that—the Force thing. I can’t understand him the way you can.”

“That’s only a barrier if you believe it. From what I’ve seen, no one has ever understood him as well as you.” Ahsoka reached out to brush her fingers over the child’s forehead, trailing lightly down the side of his face to his chin. She may not have been willing to take him into her care, but they certainly shared a bond. “He’s made his choice. I have to respect that.”

Grogu babbled, sprouting a string of his words-not-words; they brought a lively laugh out of Ahsoka.

“Yes, you’re very welcome, little one.”

A beat passed. Din stood, sluggishly processing what just happened, struggling to believe it as Ahsoka just waited.

“Thank you,” he said, finally. It didn’t feel like it fit right but nothing else came to him. He held out his hand and she met him halfway, grasping his forearm—she certainly had met Mandalorians before. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

She bowed her head. “May the Force be with you.” Pulling away, she gave both him and the child one last smile, one of warmth and blessing. “Take care of each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Finally reached the actual canon divergent part of the story!  
> Sorry if I took way too long to get here. I was having so much fun exploring the inbetween moments, possible extended scenes, and the interactions with Ahsoka—she is such an interesting character to write. 
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments!
> 
> (Chapter title taken from the song “Close My Eyes” by Watershed)


	7. Father, Son

The _Razor Crest_ lifted into the sky without fanfair, just its typical juddering and rattling, the old ship never missing an opportunity to complain about her aching bones.

Din worked the controls one-handed, his other occupied with steadying Grogu in his lap. Usually, he’d park the kid in the co-pilot seat, especially during take-offs and landings, but it didn’t feel right to put him down just yet.

Grogu seemed to agree: he had both hands wrapped around his guardian’s thumb, his grip conscious and firm, as if he were afraid something would come and pry them apart again.

Still, it was a relief to see his spark already rekindling, slowly but surely pushing that unnervingly listless acceptance aside. There was more presence in his eyes as he watched the dark, brittle landscape fall away, dissolving into murky blankets of smoke and cloud that gradually gave way to a blessedly clean nothingness. He leaned forward as waves of stars came into view but his ears still hung low and he didn’t let out that soft little sigh the starlight usually got from him.

They slipped out of the planet’s gravity field without a hitch—no exaggerated lurching or rocking, no hiccups from the artificial gravity generator, and not so much as a peep from a single alarm.

The main thrusters calmed down as the ‘ _Crest_ levelled out into a cruise, leaving them with a deep, muffled hum to abate the silence.

Din’s hand hovered over the controls of the navicomputer, fingers fluttering in phantom typing for a moment before he sighed and just let his hand drop to the dash.

Grogu twisted around, his head tilting in a question. “Baba?”

“I don’t know where we’re supposed to go from here,” Din admitted with a slight shake of his head. He brought the hand back, meaning to let it rest on his knee, but it paused on the way to trail along one of the kid’s ears angled towards him, focussed and waiting. “I... didn’t think we’d be leaving together.”

The claws still wrapped around his thumb squeezed. “Baba,” Grogu said again, purposeful and assertive, like an affirmation.

Din frowned. “You say that a lot, you know.”

The kid couldn’t form proper words. He liked to play with sounds and sometimes he seemed to be simulating conversation with his unintelligible babbling, but otherwise, he just relied on meaningful squeaks and pantomiming to push his points across. But he repeated that particular little combo of sounds quite often...

“Wait. Is that...?” Din pointed to himself as he grappled for the words, “Is ‘baba’... what you call me?”

Grogu pulled one hand off his guardian’s thumb and pressed it against his own chest. “Ah,” he said, waited for a beat, then moved to pat the hand holding him. “Baba.”

His next breath was shaky and too short, only filling the top of his lungs. “That’s, that’s...” He cleared his throat, not that it helped. “I didn’t notice that before.”

Beneath the helmet, his frown deepened but the confusion was, unfortunately, disintegrating. The truth was, at some point, he had noticed. He hadn’t actively acknowledged it, but he knew; he knew the kid directed it only to him and never to other people or things, and he had always responded to it, feeling rather than thinking it was meant for him... and only him.

He lifted the kid up onto the console, on the small empty patch that had quickly become one of his favourite spots—partly for the view of the stars it afforded, partly for its proximity to buttons and dials and blinking lights that posed ample entertainment potential. He set him down, managing to manoeuvre him so he didn’t have to let go of his hand.

Grogu swept a glance over the controls, but a twitch of his ears was his only concession to his innate, mischievous inclinations. His head turned back and canted to the side as he fixed his gaze on his guardian’s visor, pinpricks of starlight reflecting in eyes so wide and attentive.

Din took a breath, deep and slow and unsure. “I used to call my father that,” he said. “My birth father. I called him ‘Baba.’ Mama told me it was my first word.”

He shut his eyes. He hadn’t touched those memories—the warmer, lighter, quieter ones—in a small eternity; irrational though it was, he thought if he ever did reach for them that he wouldn’t find them, that they’d be too faded, too lost to recover. And yet, when he looked for them now, he found he still held them.

He was six years old and he apologized earnestly about his first word, afraid she was hurt, afraid she thought he loved her less. Both his parents had just laughed and pulled him in close. All the fear melted away; he couldn’t worry about anything when they were all holding each other...

They weren’t gone. Their voices, their faces, their name, all the little pieces of them that the universe had forgotten were really still here, in him. He could hear them again, and he could feel them as if nothing had ever happened, as if nothing had ever taken them away.

With their memory grounding him, he shored up his resolve and opened his eyes.

Grogu blinked up at him, his expression soft and unbelievably wise as he lifted his chin and chittered an encouragement.

Din twisted the hand still on the dash so he could take hold of the tiny hands. “It took a while,” he continued, “but I eventually gave that name to someone else, to the man who rescued me: my _buir_.” He brought his other hand up, slipped a finger under the collar of the boy’s robe and snagged the cording. Gently, he pulled the skull pendant out and let it rest between them on his open palm. “He gave me this. His father had it made for him when he was born and he carried it with him his whole life until he... until he found me and... called me his _ad_.”

His breath caught.

He could recall that night with perfect clarity.

It was dinner time and he had come down from the small loft that had served as his room for the week since the droids destroyed his home and his family. He paused at the foot of the stairs, frowning with confusion at the two bowls set on the table; every night before, there had been only one.

The Mandalorian had finished cooking but he didn’t pour the soup into either bowl. Instead, he took his seat and gestured for Din to take his.

He did so, growing increasingly aware that something very serious was happening.

His finder was as straight-backed and controlled as ever, but there was something unsettled lying in the deep breath he took before he slipped the necklace out from under his chestplate and held it out.

Din listened as he told the legend of the Mythosaur and how they came to be the symbol of his people, of the Mandalorians.

The helmet flattened his tone but it couldn’t stifle his warmth or his sincerity as he asked Din if he would accept him as his guardian... as his father.

He remembered glancing down at the little skull, remembered how it felt heavier than it looked.

That night, it had reflected firelight, warm and strong; now, it reflected starlight, vast and unexplored.

Grogu’s gaze flicked between the passive helmet and the mythosaur skull, his brow pinching as if he were taking stock of all the pieces of a very big puzzle.

“I can’t train you as a Jedi,” Din said. It was obvious, but to say it felt like a confession of failure. “And I can’t train you to fight like a Mandalorian; you would only get hurt.”

He opened the hand holding the child’s and turned it over so the little claws lay on his palm. He held up the pendant and Grogu understood, reaching up to accept it halfway.

“But I can care for you. I can be your _buir_. My ancestors can be your ancestors. I will not take what you were away from you; it will always be a part of you. But you can also be a part of me, if... if it’s what you really want.”

How he got the words past his pounding heart, Din hadn’t a clue, but they were finally, _finally_ out in the air now.

Though he struggled every day to figure out if the kid did or didn’t understand him, he had no doubt now.

Grogu didn’t nod, he couldn’t speak, but he gave his answer in the way he set his shoulders and his ears, in the steel he poured into his gaze.

He had chosen his path.

Gently, Din closed a hand around the child’s. He took a breath and drew his shoulders back. Closing his eyes, he slowed down. He searched for the words but he knew where they were; he had kept them caged in his heart for months.

For once, his voice didn’t hurt, didn’t shrink back, didn’t fail him and turn and hide; it came with sincerity and a strangely calm conviction, proud to carry these words.

“ _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_.” He unfurled a single finger to tilt the little one’s chin up. “I know your name as my child, Grogu Djarin.”

A beat of absolute silence followed, as if the whole universe had heard and was holding its breath, enraptured.

No one else had heard, of course; it was just the two of them in the cockpit, alone except for the stars.

Din pulled his hand away.

His fingers burned and yet felt numb, distant, detached. Nevertheless, his hands found the sides of his helmet, his thumbs locking onto the hidden catches without prompting.

The seal released and slackened with a soft, familiar hiss.

Hesitation threatened but certainty quietened it. This did not violate his vow; this was a part of it.

Breath withheld, he slid the helmet off.

The moment was quick, but full. So full.

Grogu let out a surprised squeak, his hands immediately flying up and clamping over his eyes.

He chittered. It sounded far away and muffled without the helmet’s amplifier to help compensate, but Din heard it well enough; the stunned, apologetic tone made his heart twinge.

He had explained his reasons a few times, imparting this vital piece of himself as simply and straightforwardly as he could. After encountering Bo-Katan, he had launched an hours-long monologue about the Way of the Mandalore—to reassure himself or to find fault, he wasn’t sure, but his thoughts had tumbled out without restraint, without filter, until his mouth had run dry.

And the kid had listened to it all. More than that, he had comprehended its significance and he respected it.

Din brought the helmet to rest on his lap. “It’s okay, _ad’ika_ ,” he assured and smiled at the green ears perking all the way up at the sound of his natural voice. “You can see me.”

One eye peeked open and peered at him from between fingers, careful but curious. No consequence came, so he dropped his hands further.

His brow furrowed; for a moment, Din feared he didn’t recognize him. He’d heard stories of young foundlings being scared by their finder’s faces—some thinking the helmet _was_ their true face, some just finding their faces outright terrifying.

He hadn’t been frightened by his _buir’s_ face. He had been old enough to know he had to have one, and it turned out to be such a kind face with dark, scar-ridden skin that told stories and warm eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled.

But what about _his_ face? Was it... was it too hard? Cold? Was he generating any readable expression? Did his eyes hold any of the things making his head spin and his heart race or were they hollow?

Grogu warbled and raised his hand, his fingers flexing in a question.

Din jerked back on instinct but then consciously leaned forward.

The little hand landed on his cheek, timid and featherlight.

The frown faded as he explored his guardian’s face, running his tiny fingers slowly, methodically across his cheeks and over his crooked nose. When he reached the stubble on his chin, he pulled back from surprise; tentatively, he returned to test the scratchy texture. Din could just barely hear his giggling.

Notably, Grogu’s touch softened as He brushed over the scar cutting across the bridge of his nose; an almost forlorn coo bubbled up as He found another, deeper one hiding on his temple, near his hairline.

_You’ve been hurt_ , he seemed to say.

Din laid his hand over his and ran His thumb over the little knuckles as He guided the hand back to His cheek. “I’m alright now,” he told him.

Grogu accepted the assurance but the concern lingered, drawing faint lines along his forehead.

After a few moments, he seemed to decide something. “Baba,” he said, patting the tip of the man’s nose and locking their gazes together. He gave a small but firm nod, planting a hand on either side of his face. “Baba.”

Din reciprocated by tapping the little one’s nose. “ _Ad’ika_ ,” he affirmed.

No thought went into the way he dipped his head until their foreheads just touched, and it just felt right to gather the boy in his arms and hold him close, closer than he ever could before.

Grogu nuzzled in for a moment, cooing happily at the new avenue of affection, but he soon discovered his guardian’s hair and decided that was just too interesting not to play with immediately. Din spared a grimace as he tried to recall when last he washed his hair; the kid, however, couldn’t care less, cheerily babbling as he grabbed fistfuls, not tugging or pulling, just investigating.

Din laughed—not a scoff, not a huff, not just a chuckle: a true laugh.

There was no more weight pulling on his shoulders or his back, his heart beat calmly and the warmth in his chest was comforting and healing, not stifling.

For a while, he let it be just the two of them enjoying this time, this occasion—right then, the rest of the universe did not have to exist. Mandalorians and Jedi, feuds and creeds, history and honour, quests and failings—it led them here, it made them who and what they were, but none of it mattered right now.

They were only what they needed to be for each other.

A father and a son.

Grogu pulled away eventually but Din still held his full attention. He looked at him with the same fascination and excitement he usually reserved for starry skies.

Din didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to let go of a single thread of this moment, but practicality prodded at him, reminding him they were currently headed for nowhere.

Reluctantly, he set the boy down on the dashboard. Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture and turned to the navicomputer. “So,” he said, waking up the inventory of maps, “where to now?”

Grogu planted his hands on the dash and got his feet under him, squeaking as he pushed himself up. Holding his arms out for balance, he toddled up to the screen, the blue and green lights reflecting in his eyes as he mimicked the action of reading, even pouting his lips as if he were truly considering it.

He twisted around, his gaze easily latching onto the Mandalorian’s and holding for a very purposeful beat before he turned his head and waved vaguely to the galaxy drifting by outside.

_Anywhere_.

He looked back at his father and lifted his chin. Smiling bright and sure, he gave the big, gloved hand sitting on the dash a pat.

_Anywhere... if it’s with you._


	8. Keep Me Safe With Your Fields and Fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With one quest seen through to the end, Din and Grogu set a new course together...

Gloved fingers jabbed at buttons, clunky yet quick.

The buttons click-clacked, the leather of the gloves creaked, and the screens and monitors and bulbs on the dashboard blipped and bleeped.

Grogu’s ears twitched of their own accord, following all the sounds as his eyes snapped to every light and colour accompanying the noises. His fingers itched to reach out and join in but he knew these buttons were important so he balled his hands into fists and kept them to himself.

Flashing on one of the screen’s pulled his attention. A blue square blinked around a white dot.

“Huh. Arvala-7.”

He whipped around. He knew his father’s voice already, but without the metal, it was like it was brand new: warm and full but soft and strangely quiet, hesitant, like it didn’t feel it belonged out here.

“That’s... where I found you,” he explained, tapping the screen. “Do you remember it?”

Grogu leaned forward and squinted; it still looked like a white dot, but the words brought images to mind.

Their paths crossed on the rock world. The dark men had taken him there. For a long, long time, there was no day or night, just hard walls, sharp voices, and cold—he didn’t like that cold.

But his last few days there had had days and nights, rocky plains, rain, mud, puddles, pink skies, cloudy skies, frogs and lizards and crickets. He felt the sun and he breathed clean air and he saw the stars... things he hadn’t had for so, so long.

It was a good world; it started their journey.

But there wasn’t anything for them there anymore.

His father knew that. Grief hung on him, empty but heavy. He carried it as silently as all his others but Grogu didn’t need to hear it to know it was there; he missed Kuiil just as much.

“We should probably go somewhere with a town, at least,” his father said, pressing buttons that moved the square to a different white dot.

A box popped up beside the dot and filled with lines Grogu understood were words. He couldn’t read them but Baba could; as he did, he smiled, but the happiness around it was fragile, incomplete... sad.

“Sorgan,” he said, his voice even quieter than before. His fingers hovered over the buttons for a moment before he sighed and let his hand rest on the dash.

It pulled at him. It pulled at Grogu, too; he loved the tree world, with all its greenery, its ponds and puddles, frogs and bugs, and the nice children who played with him and told him stories—the children he knew before didn’t do any of that (not with him, anyway).

But his father didn’t long for the trees or the frogs; he longed for something that wasn’t even really there, but it could be.

Grogu tilted his head and chittered.

_You want to make a home there._

He waited.

The helmet usually turned towards him at this point in their exchanges and a beat later he’d get a response (in the form of a sigh, most likely). But the helmet was in his father’s lap and his eyes, his real eyes were still on the screen.

Grogu repeated his chittering but didn’t get an acknowledgement.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Frowning, he experimented with bleating, loud and sudden.

Wide, alert eyes snapped to him. “What? What’s wrong?”

With a squeak, Grogu flinched back. It took him a moment to read the flash of fire in his father’s voice as urgency, not anger.

His eyes darted about but found no danger. He blinked, something apologetic pinching his face; Grogu wondered if it shouldn’t be the other way around, that he should be apologizing to his father for scaring him.

Letting his breath out, he returned to tapping and typing, leaving whatever just happened well alone. Grogu followed suit and turned back to the screen; the fright faded quickly but the incident lingered in his mind—a puzzle he’d sort out later.

Squares picked out different white dots, more boxes with words sprang up, but Baba didn’t read them out loud—obviously they weren’t places he wanted to go.

Grogu made a game of flicking his gaze to random dots and waiting to see if the square chose the same ones. It wasn’t a very fun game but it was getting harder and harder to resist the pull of the buttons and switches and dials so temptingly existing within arm’s reach.

“Tatooine’s good,” Baba remarked. A lightness surrounded that planet—it didn’t hold the same sadness as the rock world or the tree world. “Don’t know if I can get any work there, though.” His face pulled and scrunched, the way Grogu felt his did when he smelled something awful. “And I don’t want to slay another dragon for a while.”

Grogu mimicked the disgusted face. He never wanted to see Baba get eaten by something so big it had to live in a mountain ever again.

Another white dot got the square and a box.

“No. We only go back to Trask if we’re desperate.” Baba shook his head and quickly made the square jump to a different dot. “And we are not _that_ desperate yet.”

Another dot; Grogu actually picked that one before the square—maybe this game wasn’t so bad.

“Nevarro.” His father’s hand came to rest on the dash again, staying idle for a while and then drumming a soft, aimless rhythm.

Grogu knew that name. The lava world. They’d been back there the most.

It brought the strangest, most intricate feeling over his father. Grief, like the rock world where no one they knew lived anymore; longing, like the tree world where he wanted to stay but didn’t; light, like the sand world with its good memories and good people.

Its hold on him was old and deep but frayed. He had lost more on that world than the others.

For a long time, he stared at the screen but he saw something else. Eventually, his eyes closed, tight, and his shoulders sagged as if the metal he always wore was trying to drag him down.

“Some had to survive,” he said, more to himself than to his company. “They can’t all be gone.”

Grogu’s heart grew heavy.

He remembered the tunnels. He remembered the scattered piles of helmets and plates that looked like his father’s. Everything had felt so empty, abandoned, forgotten. The people who wore the metal, who brought it to life, weren’t there; many weren’t anywhere anymore.

Pain had lanced through his father at the sight, pain so sharp and complete that he didn’t feel his own broken body as he slipped to the ground and reached for a helmet, the visor shattered.

That pain, losing the people you belong to, Grogu knew it well... too well.

To avoid an incident like earlier, he gave the hand on the dash a pat and waited for his father to open his eyes and look at him. Once he was sure he had his attention, he tipped his head to the side and chattered, meaningfully and just a notch louder than he usually did.

He got a reply in the form of a blank stare that gave way to puzzlement.

Grogu huffed—at himself—but didn’t give up. It was too complex a thought to convey when one could only squeak and coo and chitter, so he pressed a hand to the metal skull hanging from his neck, pointed to the helmet in his father’s lap, and then waved at the stars.

_You tried to find my people; let me help you find yours._

As he watched, the deep lines in his father’s forehead faded until his face was soft again. “You think we’ll find someone?”

“Eh,” he said and nodded. (Translation: _Close enough_.)

A long moment passed as Baba thought, considered, deliberated, decided, resolved.

The ship hummed. Bulbs blinked. Grogu wondered if he could get away with pressing just one, really, _really_ small button...

His father sighed and shifted in his seat. Cloth rustled, metal caught the light. “I might know someone who can help,” he said, eventually. Straightening up, he resumed typing, this time with certainty and purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another soft father/son moment in a lumpy trenchcoat and a hat pulled low comes up to the ticket counter, walking wobbly, the top half swaying precariously. “We’re here for the—ouch! I mean, *I’m* here for the plot. Me. A major plot instalment.”  
> A hand comes out of the middle of the coat, slides a wad of cash towards me. There’s giggling. So much giggling.  
> I accept the money and print a ticket. “Enjoy the show.”  
> The figure waddles away to join a crowd of too tall, wonky trench coats gathering in the foyer.  
> (The entire staff is just waiting for management to notice. We have bets going. My money’s on chapter 10; they’ll figure it by then, surely.)
> 
> . . . . .
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments! I am writing this just for fun but seeing others enjoying it too turns it into something special. 🍁
> 
> (Chapter title from the song “Fields & Fences” by Yellowcard)


End file.
